


Darts of Pleasure

by wearing_tearing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Bartender Derek, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Drinking, F/M, Fantasizing, Fluff, Intense Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is naked.</p><p>He’s naked in a room that’s not his and in a bed that’s not his and there’s a hand lying flat against his lower stomach that’s most definitely one hundred percent absolutely <em>not his</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darts of Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> title from franz ferdinand's _darts of pleasure_ and beta'd by beautiful beth xoxo
> 
> also, i haven't written anything in over a month and i'm sorry
> 
> and nothing happens in this story i'm serious ok
> 
> **i do not give permission for any of my works to be added to or shared on other websites such as goodreads.**

Stiles is naked.

He’s naked in a room that’s not his and in a bed that’s not his and there’s a hand lying flat against his lower stomach that’s most definitely one hundred percent absolutely _not his_.

That hand is so not his that when Stiles turns to stare at the person attached to it, he almost falls the fuck out of bed.

The only reason he doesn’t is because he’s now being pinned down on the mattress with his wrists being held above his head and there’s a tongue tracing the shell of his ear and teeth tugging at his earlobe and kisses being placed over his jaw and eyes crinkled at the corners staring down at him and-

Oh.

_Oh._

Okay.

* * *

Stiles is _done_.

He has no more fucks to give.

That’s _it_.

He’s _finished_.

And he thinks he’s going to cry.

Not that he gives a shit.

Not now that he handed in his last paper and took his last final and is free of the absolute fucking _hell_ that the last weeks have been.

Because he’s _done_.

He doesn’t want to have to study and go to classes and study some more and have dick professors breathing down his neck and just have to go to _college_ anymore.

He’s ready to spread his wings and fly to the nearest bed and sleep the entire break away because he _cannot_ anymore.

Not that Scott agrees.

Not when he burst into Stiles’ room wearing a three day old t-shirt with cheese stains and his hair sticking all over the place demanding Stiles to just _take him away_.

So really, what could Stiles say?

Other than yes, I mean.

Because that’s what best friends are for, really.

They save you from yourself.

By getting you _drunk_.

So after forcing Scott to take a shower and put on a shirt that doesn’t smell like stale pizza, Stiles takes him out.

And if they end up at a bar three blocks from their apartment building where the bartender is about the hottest guy Stiles has ever seen is only because they serve good drinks and the music is even better.

Really.

It’s not because Stiles and the bartender flirt all the time and it has _nothing_ to do with how much Stiles wants to suck said bartender off behind the counter while he serves drinks to people who have no idea he has his dick in somebody’s mouth.

Okay, maybe it has something to do with it.

Because, really, Derek is _hot_.

It’s not like Stiles can help the way his dick twitches every time he stops at the bar and Derek’s on shift.

Or every time their fingers touch whenever Derek hands him a beer.

Or those times when Derek actually _talks_ to him and says something witty and incredibly funny in that dry tone of his.

Or all the times when he actually _smiles_ at something Stiles says or does and he gets these adorable crinkles in the corner of his eyes that just make Stiles want to _die_.

It also helps that he looks fucking _gorgeous_ in a tight black uniform shirt.

And tight jeans.

And boots.

And a leather jacket on the odd occasion when Stiles gets there before Derek starts working.

Not that Scott needs to know about any of this.

And apparently not that it’s going to happen anyway, not with the way Derek barely glances at Stiles and scowls at Scott when they sit at the bar before serving them both drinks and turning on his back to talk to one of the other bartenders. A _new_ bartender with curly hair who looks like a Disney princess every time she smiles and flashes her dimples at the costumers.

Stiles narrows his eyes at her and tries not to hate her for getting what he wants.

And by that he means getting fucked by Derek over the pool table after the bar is closed.

And really, he should’ve known better.

He should’ve known better than to not make a fucking _move_ , because now Disney princess obviously went ahead of him and snatched Derek right from under his feet.

Not that this is going to stop him from thinking about him.

About Derek pressing the hard line of his dick against Stiles’ bare ass, mouthing at the back of his neck, reaching a hand down to cup his balls before wrapping his hand around Stiles’ cock and –

“She’s so pretty.”

Stiles isn’t startled by Scott’s voice.

He isn’t.

He also doesn’t almost knock his beer off the bar and hits his knee against the counter and flails so hard he accidentally hits Scott in the face.

 _Hard_.

Not that it being an accident even _matters_ when Scott goes crashing to the ground in a tangled of arms and legs and his own beer bottle and a scream of _Stiles_ that has the entire bar shutting up and turning to stare at them.

Especially not when Derek’s Girlfriend comes running from behind the counter and kneels beside Scott, placing a hand on his shoulder, helping him sit up, and asking, “Are you okay?”

And it most certainly does not matter _at all_ when Stiles feels a hand on his own shoulder and turns his head to the side to find Derek glaring at him.

“You want to fight someone, you take it outside,” Derek says, and Stiles is so distracted by how fucking _hot_ he is with his tight black t-shirt and ridiculously perfect facial hair and his _eyes_ that it takes him a second to process what he just heard.

It takes Derek pushing him towards the exit for him to finally gets a hold of his tongue and say, “Oh! _Oh_. No. I don’t- We weren’t fighting.”

Stiles tries to give him his best doe eyed innocent look, failing miserably when Derek merely raises an eyebrow at him and looks back at Scott.

Who’s still on the floor.

And covered in beer.

And staring at Derek’s Girlfriend like she’s the only person in the room.

Stiles would high-five him if it wasn’t for the fact that Derek is still staring at him.

And holding on to his shoulder.

And also because Derek will probably kick the shit out of Scott when he notices the way Scott is staring at his girlfriend.

And then Stiles will have to step in and save his best friend’s honor because that’s also something best friends do.

Only he’ll end up getting pounded to the ground, and not in the way he wants to.

But right now Stiles’ most pressing concern is having to look up and convince himself not to think about Derek’s warm hand making its way down his chest and past over his nipples to stop at his jeans, only to pop the button and pull the zipper down so he can _finally_ stick his hand down Stiles’ pants.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Look, it’s not what it looks like,” Stiles tells him, throwing his arms up when Derek just huffs at him. “It isn’t! We weren’t fighting! It was an accident.”

“An accident.”

“Yes,” Stiles beams at him, trying not to feel lightheaded when Derek’s gaze goes to his mouth before snapping back up to his eyes when Stiles darts his tongue out to lick his lips.

And _oh_ , what an unforeseen turn of events.

Not when he now thinks that he might have a chance at getting Derek to fuck him until he can’t feel his legs anymore.

Or at least make him consider dumping his girlfriend and letting Stiles ride his dick off into the sunset.

“Derek, it’s okay,” Derek’s Girlfriend says, finally getting up from the floor and offering a hand to help Scott to his feet.

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles nods, shifting on his feet only to have Derek tighten his hold on his shoulder and keep him in place. “Listen to your girlfriend. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek narrows his eyes at him before turning his attention to the other two. “Allison?”

“Really, Derek, it’s okay,” Derek’s Girlfriend - _Allison_ \- waves a hand in front of her. “Scott was just telling me that his friend does that sometimes.”

“Really,” Derek says flatly. “Friend?”

And he’s giving Stiles his most unimpressed look, not that he looks any less hot.

Because he _doesn’t_ , not _at all_ , and Stiles is going to _die_ because Derek has a girlfriend and she’s nice and beautiful and it’s not fucking _fair_.

“Best friend, actually,” Scott pipes up, smiling at Allison and completely ignoring the way Derek’s face twists before settling into a blank expression once again.

And Stiles is totally prepared to tell him that _yes, really, it was all an accident_ and thentake the fastest way to the nearest gay club so he can find himself a guy with dark black hair and hazel eyes and _stubble_ to fuck the living shit out of him because there’s only so much sexual frustration he can take before he snaps when Allison says, “And I’m not Derek’s girlfriend.”

He’s not particularly worried about how fast he turns to her or of how high and hopeful his voice sounds when he asks, “You’re not?”

But only because Scott asks her the exact same thing at the exact same time.

“She’s not,” Derek answers for her, eyes still on Stiles, and now his thumb is rubbing circles against the patch of exposed skin on Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles tries not to shudder.

By the way the corners of Derek’s lips twitch up, he doesn’t succeed.

Not that he cares now that it’s been said that Derek is _single_ by Derek _himself_ and Stiles might get what he wants after all.

“Oh,” Stiles swallows hard, trying to ignore the way Allison is staring at Derek’s hand on him and smirking. “That’s… That’s good?”

“It is,” Allison agrees, smiling widening and turning so fucking _sweet_ when she glances at Scott that Stiles fights the urge to make a face at them. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be very happy to know I accepted Scott’s offer to buy me a drink.”

“You offered to buy her a drink when you thought I was her boyfriend?” Derek blinks at Scott, who opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before squaring his shoulders and nodding.

Stiles is impressed.

And a little bit jealous.

Because now Derek is staring at Scott unblinking, and all Stiles wants is to have Derek’s attention on him like that while he’s on his back with Derek’s fingers fucking in and out of him.

But a little less _I’m trying to decide if you’re worth it_ and more of an _I’m so fucking turned on right now_ sort of way.

He just wants Derek to look at him again, really.

And not to stop with the little circling motions of his finger on Stiles’ skin.

Maybe not ever.

“I have some clean shirts in the back if you want to change out of this one,” Derek tilts his chin at Scott’s beer covered clothes.

“Thanks, man,” Scott offers him a smile while Allison places a hand on his arm and starts dragging him behind the counter.

“If I don’t see you back in fifteen minutes, you’re closing,” Derek yells at Allison just as she opens the door behind the bar.

Allison flips him off.

And now Stiles is feeling kind of bad for hating her, because she’s clearly the most badass girl he’s ever met.

If he were straight he would maybe be a little jealous of Scott.

But he’s not.

And then there’s Derek, who’s now sliding his hand up to rest against the side of Stiles’ neck, his thumb pressing against Stiles’ pulse point.

“Want to tell me how you _accidentally_ hit someone in the face?”

Images of Derek letting go of Stiles’ dick to kneel behind him and spread his cheeks apart to eat him out as Stiles is bend over the pool table flash through his mind.

Even with his new found knowledge that Derek might actually _want_ him, judging by the whole hand on neck thing he has going on, Stiles is not sure how much Derek will appreciate if he tells him that so he settles for half the truth and says, “He startled me.”

“He startled you,” Derek repeats in that flat tone of voice of his, and now Stiles is thinking about a hundred different ways to make Derek sound like he’s feeling something when he talks.

Or moans.

Or _screams Stiles’ name_.

He’s not very picky.

“Yep,” Stiles says, popping the ‘p’ and pressing his lips together when Derek’s eyes zoom in on his mouth again.

Maybe he _will_ appreciate if Stiles tells him what he was thinking about.

“I was distracted. And you’ve had way too many glasses broken by me to know how clumsy I can be sometimes,” Stiles offers when Derek doesn’t say anything, just stands there staring at him.

At his _lips_.

With his hand on Stiles’ neck.

Stiles deserves some kind of fucking medal of restraint for not having thrown himself at Derek yet.

He really _really_ does.

Not that he’s made much of an effort to, with all the months of endless flirting without actually _doing_ anything.

But that’s about to change.

Derek rakes his eyes over Stiles’ face instead of saying anything, and then his lips are curling up again and he asks, “Are you distracted right now?”

Stiles licks his lips, trying to come up with an answer to that that won’t make him feel more embarrassed or turned on then he already is.

And then he sees the way Derek follows the movement of his tongue, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his eyes go a little bit darker under the yellow light of the bar.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes outs, nodding his head. “You could say I’m a little distracted.”

Derek’s hand tightens on Stiles’ neck, his lips forming the faintest of smirks before he leans in and says, “My shifts ends in three hours.”

“My dart skills need practicing,” Stiles answers without missing a beat, fighting a full body shudder when Derek’s stubble covered cheek grazes against his own.

He’s also fighting the urge to break down dancing because of what this _means_.

“Use the one at the left end of the bar,” Derek tells him as he pulls back, and at Stiles’ raised eyebrow he adds, “That way I can tend the bar and keep an eye out for you.”

Stiles ignores the way his heart flips and then melts into a puddle on the floor at that, letting his own lips stretch into a smile as he raises an eyebrow at Derek and asks, “Won’t that distract you?”

“Lucky for you I don’t tend to hit people in the face when I’m not paying attention.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at that, not caring one bit at how childish that gesture is, not when Derek’s eyes dance with amusement and he lets out a low dry chuckle and pushes Stiles in the direction of the dart board with the hand he _still_ has on Stiles’ neck.

“Have fun with your darts,” Derek says as he leaves Stiles standing in front of his only entertainment for the next three hours as Derek works on serving people who are not him.

“Have fun staring at me,” Stiles throws over his shoulder at him, smiling wickedly at the way Derek glares at him and the tip of his ears turn red.

Stiles thinks it’s only fair, really, for Derek to have his fill when Stiles has been staring at him for months now.

So he spends the next hour throwing darts, Scott joining him about half an hour after he and Allison disappeared behind the bar wearing a new shirt and the goofiest smile on his face.

“Should I be worried about finding jizz stains in beer bottles?” Stiles asks him as soon as Scott approaches him.

“ _Dude_ ,” Scott looks at him with his offended face before punching Stiles in the shoulder. “No, it was not like that,” and when Stiles just blinks at him Scott says, “Allison is not like that, okay? We just talked.”

“Yeah?” and Stiles has to smile at the way Scott’s eyes glaze over when he says Allison’s name.

The only reason why he doesn’t say anything is because he’s pretty sure that’s what he looks like when he’s thinking about Derek.

“Yeah,” Scott smiles at him before leaning in and whispering, “She invited me back to her place tonight.”

“Good for you, buddy,” Stiles throws an arm around his shoulder. “So is it okay for me to bring Derek back to ours tonight?”

“As long as you don’t have sex in the kitchen,” Scott narrows his eyes at him.

“That was one time!”

“I eat there, Stiles!”

“You two are not going to fight again, are you?”

Stiles yelps and turns on his feet to see Derek standing behind them, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he glances from Stiles to Scott and back to Stiles again.

“There was no fight,” Stiles says, elbowing Scott in the ribs when he opens his mouth to disagree.

Derek does something complicated with his eyebrows that makes Stiles thinks he’s trying really hard not to roll his eyes, and then he places his hand back on Stiles’ neck and pulls him aside.

Stiles is vaguely aware of Scott rolling his eyes at them and walking back to the bar, smiling at Allison when he sits on a stool.

“Allison is closing tonight,” Derek tells him, letting his fingers play with the soft hair at Stiles’ nape.

Derek’s hand is warm against his skin, and if he leans into the touch just a little bit it’s not like anyone needs to know.

“I figured.”

“That means I get to leave an hour early.”

“Oh,” Stiles blinks at him, biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles nods at him, bringing a hand up to rest against the middle of Derek’s chest. “Definitely.”

“Good.”

And then Derek is giving him one of those rare full smiles of his, with his teeth showing and eye-crinkles and Stiles really shouldn’t be held responsible for what comes out of his mouth next.

“I’ve been waiting months for this, dude,” he shrugs one shoulder. “An hour less or an hour more won’t really make a difference.”

“Really,” Derek’s smile is even bigger now, and Stiles kind of wants to cup Derek’s face between his hands and squeeze his cheeks together and _never let go_. “Months, you say.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighs, because he’s not going to let Derek pretend that he has absolutely no idea they’ve been flirting from the moment Stiles step foot into this bar.

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him, his fingers curling against the fabric of Derek’s shirt. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I know that you’ve been coming to the bar regularly for months, that you never drink more than a couple of beers but always leaves money for at least three, that you love your mythology class but hate your mythology professor, that you worry about your dad cheating on his diet when you’re not there to make sure he’s not, that you love curly fries more than you love anything some days, that you miss your mom, and that your best friend is named Scott and you two live together not far from here,” Derek says, his face softening at the edges as his smile turns into a smirk and he keeps going. “What I don’t know is if you like guys or if you just like talking, or if you like me or if you just like the beer I serve, or if the friend you brought with you is Scott or if he’s your boyf-”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Stiles interrupts him, his voice coming out high because if he doesn’t say something he doesn’t think there’ll be anything left of him when Derek is done.

And, okay, as much as Stiles wants to hit them both in the head for being so fucking _stupid_ about all of this, he also has to give it to Derek.

Stiles knows all about being oblivious about things that are right in front of him and not getting them until someone points them all out to him.

With drawings.

And maybe some diagrams.

And he never outright said anything to Derek about liking guys.

He just thought it was obvious, because of the whole, you know, _staring dreamingly at him_.

Stiles predicts major future fights because of failed communication between them.

“I figured as much when he introduced himself as your best friend,” Derek leans in closer, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ parted lips. “So you see, I had no idea you’ve been waiting months for this. Otherwise I would have done something about it a lot sooner than this.”

“But you’re going to do something about it now, right?” Stiles _has_ to ask because this is all that he wants, all that he’s been wanting for _months_ , for either of them to make a move and _do_ _something about it._

Because if he had any inclination that Derek thought he just liked to come here for the drinks and to talk, he would have found a way to make it pretty clear to him how much he wanted _this_ , _them_ , together, preferably naked and having lots and lots of orgasms.

Stiles thinks he might have gone as far as spreading himself over the bar naked with the words _take me now_ written on his chest.

That’s how much he wants this.

That’s how much he wants _Derek_.

And sure, this started out because Stiles thought Derek was about the hottest person he’s ever had the pleasure of ogling, but now this is something different.

Because as much as Derek has learned about him from all of their conversations on the slow nights Stiles spent at the bar, Stiles has learned things about Derek too.

Like how Derek isn’t a morning person and working at the bar at nights makes it easier for him not kill someone as soon as he wakes up.

And that the leather jacket Stiles likes so much is a present he got from his sister last Christmas because _it goes with your lovely bad boy looks and serial killer eyebrows, baby bro._

And how his family is fucking _huge_ and he misses spending time with them. Misses having his mom stop by his apartment with leftovers from lunch saying she made too much food when she really just wants to make sure he’s eating okay. Misses the way his dad eyes the Camaro like it personally offended him but always makes sure it’s in good condition and Derek has money for gas. Misses his aunts, uncles, and cousins asking him when he’s going to leave New York and come back home, come back to them.

And how Derek doesn’t miss his older sister _at all_ because she always makes sure to drop by without calling him first and spends a week trying to reorganize Derek’s entire life and making his life a living hell.

All of this just makes him like Derek even _more_ , okay, so he needs to make sure that they’re finally on the same page.

And that they’re going to do this.

Specifics of whatever this _is_ to be discussed on a later date.

After they’ve both fucked themselves into oblivion, please.

So Stiles really can’t control the little whine he lets out when Derek leans even _closer_ to him and rub their noses together and says, “Yeah, I am.”

And eskimo kisses, dude.

Someone please take Stiles away before he drowns in _cute_ or does something drastic.

Like close the distance between himself and Derek and brushing their lips together.

Oh, wait.

 _Too fucking late_.

Stiles knows he tastes of beer and sweat and spit and that that’s not always a good combination, but he’s too busy feeling how soft Derek’s lips are against his own, how he opens up and lets Stiles lick past the seam of his lips and taste mint and smoke and _Derek_ , how the hand on his neck tightens and the other one comes up to cup his jaw and trace the skin of his cheek.

He’s so caught up in this, in _Derek_ , that he doesn’t hear the catcalls and whistles coming from the bar, doesn’t hear Allison’s cheerful laughter, or Scott’s mock groan of disgust, or the _click_ of Scott’s cell phone camera that’s aimed at the two of them.

Not that it matters.

Not when Derek nips at his lower lip and sucks it into his mouth before pulling back and staring at him with glazed eyes and flushed cheeks, Stiles’ hand against his chest rising up and down with every fast breath Derek takes.

“Two hours,” Derek breathes out as he rests their foreheads together.

“I’ll wait for you,” Stiles says, not even caring about how fucking _cheesy_ he sounds.

Not when he gets to go home with Derek tonight.

Derek gives him a peck on the lips, his own twitching slightly up when he tries to step back but can’t.

Because Stiles’ hand is still clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes go from Stiles’ hand to Stiles’ face before he wraps his fingers around Stiles’ wrist and tugs, squeezing their hands together before letting go and finally walking back to the bar.

And Stiles is pretty sure he would have just stood there all night staring after Derek like the whipped fucking idiot he is if Scott hadn’t come back and punched him in the shoulder.

But that’s because both of them are now just standing there beaming at each other instead.

Because they got the girl and the boy of their dreams for the night.

And hopefully the rest of forever.

Please.

So they spend the rest of the time until Derek is off playing darts, with Scott telling him everything he learned about Allison from their thirty minute conversation when Scott went to change out of his soaked through shirt.

Like how she’s a year older than Scott, knows how to handle a crossbow, and her favorite color is purple. And how she doesn’t really have any contact with her family anymore and Derek gave her a job and a place to stay after they threw her out. And that her favorite kind of pie was pecan pie and she is actually taking some online business classes so she can help out at the bar more.

Sometimes either Derek or Allison would walk up to them and offer them drinks, staying a little to talk or, in Allison’s case, absolutely _crush them_ on their darts game.

It doesn’t take long before it is almost time for Derek to leave.

It also doesn’t take long before Stiles starts to feel nervous about all of this, for him to start feeling anxious and twitchy and his palms start sweating and for his heart to go into overdrive.

Especially when he sees Derek go into the back and come back wearing his leather jacket, kissing Allison on the cheek and then making his way to where Stiles was standing, nodding at Scott who is taking the darts out of the board before throwing an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and asking, “Ready to go?”

Stiles only nods and leans back into Derek, not really trusting himself to speak, not when he wants to say that _yes he’s so ready more than ready why did it take us this long god_.

They end up walking back to Derek’s place instead of Stiles’ because it’s closer, with Derek’s arm a comforting weight over his shoulders, keeping him there, letting him know that this is real, that they’re doing this, that _fucking finally_.

Derek stops them a few times to press Stiles back against walls in dark corners between buildings and kiss him senseless, mouthing at his jaw, sucking marks down his throat and on the thin skin of his collarbones.

Stiles likes that Derek keeps them as close as possible all the way to his door, always touching him, kissing him, pressing his head against the side of Stiles’ neck and breathing him in.

He especially likes that the first thing Derek does when they finally get inside is to kick the door shut and press Stiles up against it, his lips finding Stiles’ as he licks his way into his mouth, his hands sliding down under Stiles’ shirt and up until they rest against his ribs, his nails scratching lightly against Stiles’ side while he sucks Stiles’ tongue into his mouth and rolls their hips together.

“Derek,” Stiles gasps as he breaks the kiss, letting his head fall against the door with a thud as Derek moves to nip at his chin, pressing tiny kisses against his jaw and cheek before tugging Stiles’ shirt up and off of him and groaning when Stiles gets a hand on his hair and _tugs_. “ _Bed_.”

Because as much as Stiles fucking _loves_ the way Derek keeps circling his hips against Stiles’ while he keeps giving him the biggest fucking hickeys he’ll ever have in his throat, he kind of wants the first time he ever comes with Derek being involved in some capacity other than being in his fucking _fantasies_ to be on a bed.

 _Derek’s bed_.

A bed that’s going to smell like him because that’s where he sleeps and watches movies and hopefully jerks off thinking about doing dirty _dirty_ things to Stiles’ body.

The moan that spills out of Stiles’ mouth at that exact moment probably has a lot more to do with that than with the way Derek pulls back from his and takes his shirt off.

 _Probably_.

Because Derek shirtless is something Stiles has been waiting to see for a really long time now, so he really shouldn’t be held responsible for the way his body reacts or the things that come out of his mouth.

And then he has to moan again because Derek leans in for another kiss before clasping Stiles’ hands in his and dragging him further into the apartment.

To his _bedroom_.

Where he has a _bed_.

That Stiles is currently being pushed down onto as Derek kneels between his parted legs and gets to work on the button of his jeans.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Stiles licks his lips as he props himself on his elbows to stare down at Derek hooking his fingers under the waistband of Stiles’ jeans and underwear and pulling them down.

“You’ve wasted _months_ ,” Derek grunts at him, getting a hand on Stiles’ thigh while the other settles against his hips as he stares at Stiles hard on leaking precome against his stomach.

“You mean _you-_ ”

Stiles is dead.

He’s dead and this is heaven because Derek just got a hand on the base of his dick and his mouth covering the rest of it.

Stiles can feel the back of Derek’s _throat_ against the head of his cock, can feel the stretch of his lips against his shaft, can feel the wet warmth of Derek’s mouth as he bobs his head up and down and _swallows_ and _hums_ and _groans_ around Stiles’ dick.

He’s _dead_ and he doesn’t give a shit because this is the most glorious thing that’s ever happened to him since he set foot inside Derek’s bar.

So he just weaves his fingers through Derek’s hair and holds the fuck _on_ as he gets the best fucking blowjob he’s ever gotten in his life.

He’s not worried about lasting long, not when his mouth runs ahead of him and his filters is sucked out through his dick and he mumbles between choked-up gasps that he’s _not gonna- Derek- won’t last_ and Derek’s only answer is to take his own mouth off of him and pant against the flesh of Stiles’ thigh saying that they _have all the time in the world for that_.

So he groans when Derek swallows him down again, and moans when he speeds up his movements, and whimpers when he swirls his tongue under the head of Stiles’ cock, and gasps out Derek’s name when his body tenses and stills and he finally spills down Derek’s throat.

Derek kicks the rest of his own clothes off as Stiles catches his breath, climbs onto the bed and gets his hands on Stiles’ sides to help him up on the bed until his head is resting against Derek’s pillows.

Stiles gives him a smile when Derek leans down to bump their noses together, getting a hand on the back of Derek’s neck and pulling him in so he can taste himself on Derek’s tongue.

He can feel the hard line of Derek’s cock against his stomach, dripping precome against his skin as they kiss and kiss and kiss until Stiles pulls back and asks, “Do you want to finish it in my mouth or inside of me?”

His smile comes back, only this time it’s smug when Derek curses under his breath and drops his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder, darting his tongue out to wet his lips and moaning when he ends up getting a taste of Stiles’ salty skin in the process.

“Can I do both?”

And Stiles has to let out a breathy laugh at that, at how fucking _wrecked_ Derek sounds, his voice hoarse and low and completely fucked out.

“Not at the same time,” Stiles says, letting his fingers card through the strands of Derek’s hair while his other hand rubs circles against his naked back.

Derek takes a deep breath and turns his head to the side, his lips brushing over Stiles’ chest when he murmurs, “Inside.”

And Stiles’ lips form another smile, this one wicked and dangerous and _happy_ , because that’s what he wants, too. He wants Derek inside of him and to wrap himself up around him and _stay there for fucking ever_.

So he tugs at Derek’s hair until he raises his head and kisses him, slow and deep and sweet before letting him go and saying, “Lube and condoms.”

“Such a romantic,” Derek sighs against his lips, nipping at his chin before turning on the bed so he can get to his nightstand’s drawer, rummaging inside it before he snaps it shut and places a bottle of lube and condoms on the mattress.

“Want me to stretch myself up?” Stiles asks when Derek doesn’t do anything, just traces the tips of his fingers lightly over Stiles’ face, down his neck, over the purple marks Derek left all over him.

Derek shakes his head no but doesn’t say anything, taking his time to take Stiles _in_ , to stare at him and commit him to memory.

It’s only when Stiles’ cheeks start to flush and he starts squirming under Derek that he moves, giving Stiles a pillow for him to place under his hips, and then reaching for the bottle of lube and coating his fingers as he kneels between Stiles’ spread legs.

It’s when Stiles feels the firm press of a fingertip against his hole that he realizes this is something different.

That this is something more than just a one night stand for both of them, more than just getting something out of their systems, more than just finding someone to get you off and then get out.

This is something _more_.

Because Derek doesn’t takes his eyes off of him as he opens Stiles up with his fingers, his thumb rubbing tiny circles over the skin of Stiles’ inner thigh where his other hand in resting like there’s no other place he’d rather be than right here watching Stiles.

Stiles, who’s feeling shaky and hot all over and who can’t fucking _breathe_ because this is too much and not enough, and he wants _this,_ wants _Derek,_ wants everything he’s willing to give and so much more.

So much more that all he can do is close his eyes when he sees Derek going for a condom, and then hide his face against the side of Derek’s neck as he positions himself against Stiles, and _finally, fucking finally_ let out the breath he’s been holding when Derek pushes inside.

Because this is it.

This is everything he’s ever wanted.

Everything he’s ever wanted wrapped up in nights at the bar and too many beers and sucking at darts and late night conversations under low yellow lights while music plays in the background and falling in love with a bartender who misses his family and hates mornings and listens to him talk about everything and nothing just because maybe he is falling in love right back and wasting all of this time because they were being so fucking oblivious they didn’t even notice what was right under their noses.

All of _this_ wrapped up in _Derek_ inside of _him_ as Derek rolls his hips forward, catching Stiles’ mouth in a kiss as he gets a hand between them and on Stiles’ dick, mumbling against his lips that he’s _been waiting for this waiting for you waiting for us_.

And Stiles is _done_.

He’s _undone_.

He’s being tipped right over the edge with Derek’s hand on him and Derek’s cock inside of him and Derek’s teeth against the junction between his neck and shoulder as they both tense and come.

He’s lying on Derek’s bed and he can’t move because he feels like he’s been torn apart and is waiting for someone to put him back together.

He’s lying on Derek’s bed with Derek on top of him and inside of him and he won’t move because he doesn’t have to wait to get what he wants anymore.

Because what he wants is right here.

* * *

Stiles is naked.

He’s naked in a room that’s not his and in a bed that’s not his and there’s a hand lying flat against his lower stomach that’s most definitely one hundred percent absolutely _not his_.

That hand is so not his that when Stiles turns to stare at the person attached to it, he almost falls the fuck out of bed.

The only reason he doesn’t is because he’s now being pinned down on the mattress with his wrists being held above his head and there’s a tongue tracing the shell of his ear and teeth tugging at his earlobe and kisses being placed over his jaw and eyes crinkled at the corners staring down at him and-

“Morning,” Derek smiles down at him with his eyes soft and his hair a mess and his voice low and thick with sleep.

“Hi,” Stiles blinks up at him, his own lips curling up and his cheeks flushing as he remembers _Derek_ and _him_ and them _together_.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles has to clear his throat when his voice cracks. “Yeah. You?”

Derek's answer is to lean down and rub their noses together, brush his lips lightly over Stiles’, mouth at the marks dotting his neck and collarbone.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” and Stiles tilts his head to the side to give him more room.

He shivers when he feels Derek’s breath ghost over his skin as he says, “I have the night off tonight.”

“The darts will miss me,” Stiles bites down on his lip to keep himself from asking what Derek means.

Not that he has to.

Not when Derek pulls his head back and looks at him with an expression torn between annoyed and extremely fond and asks, “Stay?”

And Stiles is really not to blame when he takes that opening and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Forever?”

Derek shrugs one shoulder, “If you think the darts can take it.”

And then he’s leaning down and covering Stiles’ lips with his own and -

Oh.

_Oh._

Okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can come flirt with me up at [tumblr](http://dylansmouth.tumblr.com/) <3


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